Epidemic
by Deathofme
Summary: Oneshot. An epidemic strikes New Jersey and takes the best of men.


**A/N **(rather long) Oneshot. An epidemic grips the men of New Jersey and when Doctor Wilson is hit, House blames himself and struggles to find a cure. Some very subtle undertones of HC, and even perhaps HW, not intentional. but funny now that I look at it. This one shot actually isn't angsty, I think you'll have fun with it anyway.

What I neglected to mention, the idea of this epidemic leaves me completely indebted to Brian K. Vaughan. If you don't know what I'm talking about google "Y:The Last Man" and make sure you read it!

**Please leave a review, and enjoy!**

* * *

"I don't understand…"

House looked frantically through the test results, moving onto CT scans and then MRI's. They were all of dozens of different men, they were all displaying the same symptoms, but apart from that he could find nothing in common between all of them. They were all sick and dying.

"House, you have to call it in."

He looked at Cameron, and then nodded.

"You're right. Get Cuddy on the phone. We have an epidemic on our hands."

* * *

Chase had gotten bit by the bug that was going around. Cameron had insisted on spending time to 'make him feel better', which he scowled at, and used that time instead to prep Foreman on how best to take care of themselves. The epidemic, plague, whatever disease it was, seemed only to attack men. They had to find out the reason why and isolate the cause.

"These are the best preventive measures we have, and we need to stay healthy if we want to solve all of this. Take these pills every day. And I mean everyday. We're already short one on the team, I can't have my neurologist kicking off too. If anything, I think it's in the brain."

"Alright House. But, if this works…"

House sighed, twisting his mouth to the right.

"No, it's not a vaccine. We still have to figure that out. It might be something new altogether and the CDC will have to develop a new vaccine. But this should give us a boost and if we make sure to take very strict hygienic methods…I think it'll buy us enough time."

"Are you worried, about what could happen to us?"

Foreman was asking House if he had thought of his own mortality. If he was in fear for his life and if he had come to terms that he was fallible. House scowled instead and snapped back,

"Have you seen the state Chase is in? Our Australian pretty boy has lesions over his skin worse than being called pizza face in high school, his modeling career is over. I, however, still might have a chance of gracing the cover of GQ magazine, so yes, I'd like to take preventive measures against that. Maybe _you _have no chance to begin with so—"

"Alright, alright. Just shut up."

* * *

Princeton Plainsboro had to start turning patients away. Their hospital had been placed under quarantine, and any patient with a condition unrelated to the epidemic was turned to Princeton General. Cuddy, flustered and floundering under the strain the epidemic was placing her hospital under, had given in and appointed House head doctor of the cases. He had been busy running tests, swabbing lesions, and building charts upon charts with details of every patient he saw hoping to find some clue…some clue…

Why only men? Was it something to do with the Y-chromosome itself? Or maybe it was something else, something more innocuous. Men's and women's bodies were different in many ways, some ways more slight, it could be a difference in liver masses or bone structure or the shape of their brains, maybe even in the hypothalamus, maybe it had to do with them having balls…

House groaned and held his head in his hands. If it were only a few isolated cases, he could do something, but with so many patients, all of them ticking time bombs, dozens upon dozens of dying men…

Men. Dying men. Not boys, not youths, men.

Age had to play a factor, something had to do with age. What was the major difference in the body after a boy hit puberty? After how many years after that maturation did the virus (or whatever it was) hit? Was it something to do with the pituitary gland? And that had to be coupled with the fact that still, it only affected men.

"House?"

"_What?_"

He snapped, turning his head to see who had opened the door. A startled Wilson was holding up a sandwich and House deflated, waving him in. He was at his wits end and had been sharpish with everyone.

"You haven't eaten all day, you need to get something inside you."

"I'll be fine, fasting for one day hasn't hurt anybody."

"But you've also been taking twice you normal intake of vicodin, which isn't normal to begin with, and if you have nothing to cushion it with you're going to OD."

Wilson placed the sandwich on the table and a cup of coffee as well.

"Go on, take a break. You won't be able to do anything if you burn out."

House morosely took a bite of the reuben, spat out a pickle, and took a huge swallow of the coffee. He wasn't going to tell Wilson, but his stomach was happier with him now that he had some food in him. He exhaled deeply, cracking his neck and stretching the muscles in his back. His leg was killing him. He popped another vicodin, ignoring Wilson's glare.

"Getting anywhere?"

"Halfway through the sandwich, yeah."

A look from Wilson.

"No. Nowhere."

"This is really sad. Kind of makes you wonder. Mother Nature must be pulling a fast one for her team and trying to off all the men in the planet in one go. Kind of makes you feel special."

House frowned a little,

"Any cases of this internationally, or in other parts of the country?"

Wilson shook his head,

"No, I was _joking_ House, I don't actually think Nature—"

"Naw, you're probably right. Though, the old broad hasn't taken the best of men."

House paused significantly and then started laughing, finally loosening up for the first time in a week. Wilson just looked at him, trying not to laugh as well, amazed that his friend's arrogance could still persevere in the most dire of situations.

It seemed all was still right in the world.

* * *

"Wilson? Wilson?"

Mother Nature took the best of men.

He had swayed on the spot, holding a tray of medications. House had asked him if he felt alright, and Wilson said yeah, yeah, but he was squinting and wouldn't open his eyes. He then crashed to the floor, out cold. When House tried to help him up, his friend lying with pills scattered over the cold linoleum, Wilson had retched and then vomited.

They had rushed Doctor Wilson to a room, the nurses had thrown him onto a stretcher and took him down to the quarantine area. House had protested the whole while, yelling at them that they had made a mistake, but he couldn't keep up with them because of his leg. They had stripped him, given him scrubs and ran all the tests. Cuddy had to keep House locked up in her office so he wouldn't do anything stupid.

"What is it? Does he have it?"

Cuddy peeled off her latex gloves and irritably tossed them into her office trash can. House had been biting his nails ragged and looked up hopefully.

"He has it. No wonder too, he's been wearing himself thin, his immune system was weakened. He must have picked it up from all the other sick cases in here. The hospital has become a festering cesspool of disease."

She saw House's unguarded face and hers fell.

"I'm sorry House."

"Are you going to let me out of your office now?"

He was getting abrasive, his first defense mechanism.

"House—"

"Are you going to let me out or were you planning on drawing the curtains and sodomizing me, I'll scream rape."

"Fine, go. Sheesh."

She threw down her surgical mask onto her desk and was taking off her lab coat when she remembered something she had to tell House and whipped around.

"House you can't—"

Damnit. He was already gone.

"…go into Wilson's room…"

* * *

"Go on, get out of my way."

"Doctor House, you can't enter the patient's room unless you go through the disinfectant chamber."

"He's not a patient, he's _Wilson_."

"You still have to go through, he's been placed into a clean room."

"Oh yeah, and what's that? A compensation present from Cuddy?"

"What are you going to do anyway? He's sedated. You're going to talk to an unconscious body?"

House glared, but didn't know what to say. That suddenly didn't make him want to go in, it would make the situation awkward. And he hated being put into awkward situations, especially when it came to people other people thought were his friends. Friend-like beings…more than friendly acquaintances…

Oh whatever the hell Wilson was.

House still glared, but he took a deep breath and walked away.

* * *

"House go home. You can work on this at home, but there's nothing more you can do at the hospital anymore. I can take over the tests from here."

"No, no I'll stay here."

He had pored over encyclopedias, medical journals, periodicals and had been scribbling endlessly on notepad. He was no closer to his answer. He needed to take a break, but ever since Wilson had fallen sick, he wouldn't leave. Cameron sighed and sat down beside him at his desk.

"It's like what you said to a patient once. People feel the closer they are to a loved one's room, the less guilt they're burdened with. The further you are, the less support and love you're showing, and so if something bad happens, it becomes your fault."

House looked at her, scowling.

"Major difference, I am a _doctor_ thus I am saving a patient thus I need to be at this hospital. Get it? I'm doing my job. And who said Wilson was my loved one? It's not as if we're gay or anything…"

His eyebrows rose.

"…or is _that_ the reason why you haven't been flirting with me and cry in the bathroom during your lunch break?"

"Don't flatter yourself, and go home. You might as well do it before Cuddy forces you."

"What do you mean?"

"Cuddy's putting in a new emergency policy in place effective tomorrow. No male staff are allowed in this hospital in case they get infected too. Only women will be allowed to come to work. You'll _have _to stay at home."

House almost rose to his feet, incensed.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, I'm HEAD doctor on this!"

"And she's also placing security on all the entrances to ensure that no doctor slips past her new policy."

Cameron shrugged.

"Sorry. You'd better brief me then today on what you wanted done so I can start first thing tomorrow."

House glared, but then handed over the files.

"If you sit in my chair, you're fired. If you write on my whiteboard, you're fired. If you touch my gameboy—"

"—yeah, I'm fired. I get it."

"No, you can play my gameboy. But if you beat my highscore, _then_ you're fired."

* * *

House looked like shit. The epidemic hadn't gone anywhere and the CDC was pressuring Cuddy to come up with something, or they would take the hospital by storm and completely overhaul the case into their jurisdiction. Eleven men had died already and there was a huge public outcry in New Jersey.

Foreman had come over twice, and that was on House's demand. He still wanted to pursue the neurological standpoint, but after picking Foreman's brains, he realized there was still something missing, and he couldn't figure it out.

He made regular calls to Cameron, bless her soul, she didn't complain that he called just about every five minutes, but the updates she gave were scant and far in between. He had files and test results and scans pasted all over his walls, scattered all over his coffee table, on his bed, and he slept when he exhausted himself into unconsciousness. He drank nothing but whiskey, popped too much vicodin and ate the sparse contents of his refrigerator.

One morning he woke, eyes gummy with sleep grit, and he felt weak and sweaty. His body shook slightly and he then retched and threw up on his floor. A few tears were surprised from him and leaked onto his floor. He tried to get up, but his arms shook and he collapsed to the hardwood.

He paused for a few moments, feeling all his strength being sapped from him and finally gathering the courage, he dragged himself to his phone. He managed to tug on the wire and the receiver clattered to the floor. He had the hospital on speed dial.

"Princeton Plainsboro."

"Get me Doctor Cameron."

"Do you have an appointment with—"

"It's Doctor House, _get me Cameron_."

The nurse on the other end obviously knew who he was, maybe she was the one he had terrorized for not bringing him fresh syringes in less than thirty seconds flat, and he heard Cameron on the other line.

"Cameron, I have it."

He heard a dead silence on the other line, and when she spoke her voice shook.

"Are you sure?"

"I don't want to go to the hospital…please…come over…"

"House you need to admit yourself—"

"No, no…bring medication…anything…I don't want to go…"

There was a silence, and he croaked,

"Cameron please."

"Okay. I'll be there in ten minutes."

The line went dead, and finally he let go and slumped to the floor again. He couldn't move, didn't want to move, felt sore and instead curled up against the side of his sofa and tried to sleep until Cameron came.

* * *

"House?"

He was somewhere warm.

"House?"

Someone was gently shaking his shoulder and he cracked open an eye. He turned his head behind him and saw Cameron, kneeling on the floor, looking concerned. Ruffled.

"How did you get in?"

"I found extra keys to your apartment in Wilson's office."

"You broke into Wilson's office?"

"I thought it was urgent."

He laughed, weakly in his throat, and she frowned deeper in concern. She checked his pulse, laid a hand over his forehead and then helped him onto his sofa. She quickly cleaned up the vomit and gave him some medication. It was the buffer pills they were giving all patients to try and keep the symptoms at bay. She got blankets from his linen closet and made sure he was warm.

"How's…Wilson…?"

"He's stable."

"Does he have…"

House gestured to his face,

"The pimples?"

"They're _not _pimples…but yeah, he has them."

"Shit."

"Look this is no time to worry about Wilson, we have to make sure you get better. I don't understand how you could have contracted this…you weren't at the hospital. Does this mean we have to rule out environment as a factor?"

House blinked a few times, exhausted.

"Cameron. You're lovely. Shut up."

"I don't know what we're going to do without you. If anyone could have broken this case, it would have been you…"

She was sitting by his side, looking at him worriedly.

"You talk about me like I'm already dead."

"Well unless a miracle happens, I don't think you'll be well enough to do anything. Too sick to work on the case…"

"Maybe I deserve it."

He sighed, looking up at his ceiling. Cameron leaned in closer,

"What do you mean?"

"Wilson…Wilson shouldn't have gotten it."

"That was a fluke chance, just like everyone else—"

"No, it wasn't. How's Foreman, is he doing alright?"

"Yeah, he's fine, what—"

"I made Foreman take a strict regiment of preventive medication. I took it too. I completely forgot to tell Wilson about it…if he had taken it, he would have been fine, he wouldn't have caught the bug…"

"House that is _not _your fault. How does that work anyway, you got the bug—"

"I stopped taking it."

Cameron paused, her mouth open, trying to protest but not knowing how.

"You stopped taking the pills because you felt guilty about Wilson? You felt so guilty you wanted to get the bug too as a way to make up for it? That kind of backwards thinking is so unlike you, it's so…"

He realized she was laughing at him,

"…so human."

"Oh shut up."

She was smoothing the blankets covering him, having nothing to do, but loathe to leave his side. He watched the repetitive motion for a few moments, suppressing the urge to vomit again. He just felt tired. And weak. Weak all over, a throbbing pain in his stomach.

"You want to take care of me."

She looked at him, eyes wide, and he continued.

"You still like me. No matter what I do you still cling onto this, almost perverse, hope that I'll like you back, and I'll still have feelings for you. You can't help it, you just won't quit it. Even after that horrible date we had, even after you knew I was having an affair with Stacy, still even after all that, you're still here. You came running when I showed the smallest amount of attention and need."

Cameron's voice was quiet.

"Are you going to call me pathetic?"

"No. No, I think I'm pathetic. You should really try and find someone else to lavish your attention on."

"You're not talking like yourself."

"I don't feel like I have much time."

"Don't say that."

Cameron was holding his hand now, and he didn't shake her off. He just exhaled instead, she looked like she was ready to cry. He just felt…tired. And weak. He didn't know whether he felt at peace or not, but he did feel some comfort in this sense of closure.

"Thank you…Allison…"

That did it. She let go of his hand and stood up, so he couldn't see the surprised tears springing from her eyes. She stood there for a moment, trying to minimize the sniffling.

"Um…I'm just going to go into your kitchen, okay? Get some water."

"Go ahead."

He heard her tinkering around, the tap running and then a silence. There was the sound of some plastic bag rustling and then she came storming back into the living room. The sound of angry heels against his hardwood. She looked furious, her face was red, her eyes puffy, but she looked positively outraged with him.

"Did you eat from this?"

She held up a can, it was in the back of his pantry somewhere. He barely paid any attention to anything he had eaten over the past few days, just grabbing whatever there was to cushion the alcohol.

"Uh…sure?"

"You IDIOT!"

She threw the can at him, and he squirmed, hoping it would miss his head. It bounced off the armrest of the sofa and clattered to the floor.

"You're not dying, you have yourself botulism poisoning!"

House frowned and weakly twisted in the sofa, trying to look at the floor to see where the can fallen and if it were true.

"I don't believe you, you are the stupidest man I know, how can a doctor trained in medical school, pride of Princeton Plainsboro be stupid enough to go and eat from a dented can—you're supposed to be the genius of the diagnostics department, always belittling everyone else on how careless and ignorant they are, and once you go wallow in your own self-pity every sensible thought just flies out the window—you can't give me any of your crap ever again, I am so MAD at you…"

And on and on it went, Cameron at her wits end, still furious and berating him, and for the first time in weeks, House looked at that sad little tin can and he laughed.

* * *

"How did you do it House?"

"I always come out on top."

Wilson was sitting up in bed, eating some red jello in a cup. The lesions had all but disappeared now and he was going to be discharged by the end of the week. Cuddy had lifted her ban on men, and Chase had recovered completely and was back at work.

"What did Cuddy say when you found the treatment?"

"What she _didn't_ say was no, when I politely requested to have one hundred hours shaved off my clinic duties."

Wilson laughed through the jello and House joined in.

It was the can that he had food poisoned himself with that gave him the idea for the treatment. Bacteria cultures. The answer lay in bacteria cultures. Men either didn't have the proper antibodies, or enough of them to fight the virus (they found out it was indeed a peculiar strain of virus) and that the bacteria cultures similar to the ones found in food poisoning (with a properly obscure, scientific name) operated similarly. Once injected with those, the men got better, went under monitoring for a few days and when all traces of the bug was gone, they then got antibiotics to get rid of the cultures they were injected with.

Wilson put down his plastic spoon, and looked slyly at House.

"So Cameron tells me you called her over to your place when you thought you had the plague…"

She wouldn't. She wouldn't tell Wilson, would she?

"Uh huh…"

House said cautiously, looking at his friend and trying to discern exactly what sort of teasing he would undergo.

"I never thought you had it in you to thank someone."

House inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Wilson would never need to know.

"Well maybe if you saved my life, I'd thank you more often."

Their friendly banter continued for a while, ending in House betting Wilson he could eat more hamburgers than he could in two minutes, and Wilson sighed, sinking back into his pillows, all laughed out. Cameron had told him everything that had went on back at House's place when House thought he was dying.

House would never need to know.


End file.
